


A Ray Gun CHRIStmas

by emmadenoue



Category: Chris Ray Gun, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Chris ray gun fanfiction, F/M, chris ray gun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 08:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadenoue/pseuds/emmadenoue
Summary: On a freezing cold day in late December, you meet a handsome stranger in a pub. His name is Chris, and there’s no way you’ll be forgetting that anytime soon.*(y/n) = your name here*





	A Ray Gun CHRIStmas

**Author's Note:**

> So I realize this is kinda fucked (writing fan fiction about a real person and all) but I’m hoping people will be able to see the humor in it (Idk I’m sorry Chris please forgive me). This concept popped into my brain and I just had to put it somewhere.
> 
> My inspiration pic: https://mobile.twitter.com/ChrisRGun/status/742301071331229696/photo/1
> 
> That’s it for now... thanks!

New York at Christmastime had to be simultaneously the most magical and most truly horrifying place on Earth. A beautiful layer of soft, white snow coated the ground, but the trains were packed and everyone was late. The display windows of every store, from the gigantic Macy’s to each tiny deli, were lit up with beautiful fairy lights that sparkled as shoppers shoved, pushed, and smacked into each other in the mad rush to buy presents for their obnoxious kids. As you walked down the street, you regarded the chaos and sighed. Despite how hectic everything was, you decided it was part of New York’s charm. Besides, Manhattan was about a thousand times more interesting than the suburban town you’d grown up in. Committing to college up here was the best decision you’d ever made.  
Another gust of wind blew down the street, nearly pulling off your scarf. You wrapped it tighter around your neck and grimaced. Despite valiant efforts on your part to make it to the library, it didn’t seem like it was going to happen. That was extremely frustrating; today was the 23rd and they wouldn’t reopen again until the 26th, meaning a slew of late fees for one stupid textbook. You had a moment of hesitation until another gust of wind hit you straight in the gut. Whatever, 25 cents was a small price to pay for regaining the feeling in your toes.  
You whipped around to begin the trek back towards your apartment, and as you did so, you lost your balance on the slush covered sidewalk. You toppled headfirst into a group of Chinese tourists; thankfully they didn’t seem to quite understand the expletives you muttered as you picked yourself and your bags up off the dirty ground. As you stood, a flickering neon sign caught your eye: “CONNOLY’S PUB AND RESTAURANT” It’ll do, you thought to yourself. After that escapade you deserved (as well as desperately needed) a pint of something, anything. You made a beeline for the green awning, ducked underneath, and slipped through the door.  
Once you were inside the smell of old wood and fresh bread flooded your nostrils. A warm orange light fell over the room, helping you feel immediately at home among the chattering of customers and the crackling fire. You glanced around for somewhere to sit, finally landing on an open bar stool in the far corner of the room. Gently pushing past the chairs and tables scattered throughout the room, you arrived at your chosen spot. The stool next to yours was already occupied by someone.  
“Excuse me,” you started, “do you mind if I sit here?”  
The someone turned around, and, for just a moment, your heart skipped a beat. It was a young guy in his early to mid-twenties. His light brown hair was cropped short, with slight tinges of blonde at the ends, and his eyes were a deep brown behind thin rectangular glasses that glinted in the light of the fire. A red flannel hung loosely off his shoulders, under which was a graphic t-shirt that clung tightly to his chest; your eyes lingered there for a moment, though you weren’t especially interested in the design. The shadow under his chin may have been the beginnings of stubble, but in the firelight it was hard to tell. In short, he was gorgeous.  
“Sure,” he said, and gestured next to him “the more the merrier, you know?” He looked up at you from beneath his large, masculine brow and gave a small smirk. Oh lord.  
“T-thanks,” you managed, as you took your seat. You began peeling off layers that were now thoroughly soaked in slush, abandoning scarf, jacket, and gloves on the floor below the bar. Once your pile had been sufficiently constructed, you turned back around. The hot stranger was still looking at you; there went another mini heart attack.  
“What can I get you?” a voice said, causing you to snap out of your reverie.  
“Huh?” your head whipped forward.  
“Can I get you anything, miss?” the bartender asked again.  
“Oh. Uh… yeah… what’s on tap?”  
“Guinness, Stella Artois, Foster’s…” the bartender rattled off beers until you interjected, taking whichever one sounded the most palatable. You took your glass and wrapped your fingers around it, sipping quietly and watching Hot Guy™ in your peripheral. He had leaned forward to check his phone, and as you watched, suddenly the stranger turned to face you again.  
“Man, this weather is fucked, huh?” he remarked.  
You laughed as you replied, “Yeah, it’s not ideal. I thought I knew what snow looked like before, but after I moved here, I realized I didn’t know shit about extreme weather.”  
“Really? Where’re you from?”  
“Originally the middle of nowhere. I should be used to New York weather by now, I’ve been here almost four years, I know how insane the city goes every Christmas.”  
“And even knowing that you decided, ‘wow, I love New York so much, I’m going to subject myself to it at the worst time of the year’?”  
“Oh, absolutely!”  
He grinned. “Bonus points if you’ve abandoned your family at the same time.”  
You laughed. “Do I still win if they’re the ones that ditched me?” Your parents were currently on a Caribbean cruise, bathing in sunlight and margaritas, as opposed to sleet and annoying sales people.  
“Jesus, that’s gotta hurt. Well, cheers to avoiding family,” he tilted his glass towards you, and you reciprocated. “So,” he began, after taking a slug of his beer, “what’s your name, Kevin McAllister?”  
“(y/n)” you smiled. “You?”  
“Chris,” he responded. Even his name was hot.  
“OH!” you exclaimed, “Chris! Fun fact, that name’s actually been in use since the late 15th century!”  
“Wait, what?” he asked. Fuck.  
“Uhh… I just thought it was interesting…” you felt your face flush red. Jesus, why were you such a loser?  
“How do you even know that?” Chris asked with a small smile.  
You shrugged. “I go to college, I know a lot of stupid random shit like that,” you looked away, no longer able to keep eye contact. “Sorry…”  
“Nah, don’t apologize,” he grinned, “It was cute.” Wait. What?  
You glanced up at Chris. His dark eyes hadn’t moved from your own and now you regretted ever looking away. How had you even managed to break eye contact? Now that he had you in his gaze again you didn’t think you were ever going to be able to divert your eyeline. The way he was looking at you, with a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes, turned your knees completely weak. I should respond, you thought. A normal person would respond and say something witty back. Say something witty! GO!  
“Yeah, but was it worth four years’ tuition?” WHAT WAS THAT?  
Chris laughed. “Oh, hell yeah! What, four years of debt for fun facts? Not worth it? Whaaat?”  
Now you cracked a smile. The snarkiness of his personality complimented the edge in his appearance - and made him that much more appealing.  
“True, but at this point, I’ve got less than six months to go. If I can just get through these last few projects-” suddenly you froze. Your expression dropped as a realization hit you smack in the face. “Oh fuck.”  
“What’s up?” Chris asked, suddenly concerned. If you hadn’t been freaking out, you would’ve found his immediate concern incredibly sweet.  
“My project. My psychology project,” you groaned, “It’s my last required course; we have to make a video about social cues and shit and I completely forgot I had planned to finish it tonight. My computer is such a hunk of garbage- it keeps freaking out and I can’t seem to get anything done with it!”  
“Do you know what the problem is?”  
“I have no idea! I haven’t been able to fix it,” you cringed at the memory of your laptop crashing halfway through your work. “I’m sorry,” you turned to Chris, “I hate to run off but I really need to get this done,” you started snatching your various belongings off the ground in a bid to get out the door. “I’m so sorry-”  
“Oh, hey, no worries,” Chris started, “do you-”  
“Oh, son of a BITCH!” you cursed as you dropped your jacket on the ground again.  
Chris winced slightly at the scene before him. “Hey…”  
“Yeah?” you looked up.  
“You said you’ve got some issue with your laptop?”  
“Yeah, well, my editing software. It keeps crashing, but if I could fix it I could be done with this stupid project for good…” you sighed.  
“You know, I kinda make videos for a living,” Chris began.  
You paused. “Wait, really?”  
“Well, yeah, I actually went to film school and stuff, so if you were interested, I could take a look at your stuff for you-”  
“YES!” you responded in a heartbeat. “Oh my god, YES. THANK YOU SO MUCH. You’re a lifesaver!”  
He smiled. “Hey, no problem,” Chris stood, grabbing a black coat off the stool as he did so. After slinging it around his shoulders, he gently took your surplus belongings, handing them to you one by one as you put them on. “Ready?”  
“Yeah, thanks,” you grinned at him. You dropped some cash on the counter, Chris followed suit, and then the two of you made your way carefully to the door. You braced yourself and pushed out into the cold. Oh fuck. Yeah, it was still freezing, but thankfully your jacket had dried by then. Nevertheless, you shivered and buried your hands in your pockets, grateful that you had gotten out of the blizzard for a bit. You felt Chris step up beside you and turn in your direction.  
“Lead the way, McAllister,” he smirked.  
“Gladly!” you replied. You began to push through the snow, using your textbook as a kind of shield against both the ripping winds and the crowd ahead. Chris trailed slightly behind, maneuvering expertly between the passerby, like he’d been doing it his entire life (which, come to think of it, he probably had- his New York accent was faint at first, but the more excited he got, the more pronounced it became. It was one of the many things that continued to endear him to you).  
The two of you walked in silence to your apartment. You didn’t have much of a choice, since the wind was whipping past your ears. It was better to just duck your heads and push forward; it made the walk go faster. As much as you wanted to ask him questions, or thank him again, you couldn’t help but be aware that the less the two of you talked, the more the tension between the two of you built.  
Finally you turned a corner and paused in front of a brownstone. You glanced behind you in time to see Chris stop just short of careening into you.  
“Well, this is it- casa de (y/n)” you said.  
“Hablas español?” Chris asked. You shook your head. You knew enough Spanish to understand what he was asking, but that was about it. “Lástima…” he began. Suddenly he had that gaze on you again. He moved closer until he was only an inch or two from your nose, then continued, “Tu no entiendes cuando te digo que tu eres atractiva.”  
“W-what?” you stammered. You felt your heart pound in your chest- he was so close to you, you were scared to even breathe. He held your eyes for a moment longer, then smirked and took a step back.  
“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he said. “Let’s get out of this hellstorm, shall we?”  
You let yourself into the building and the two of you began the hike up the stairwell. Four flights of stairs wasn’t exactly your idea of fun, but anything was better than marching through the freezing snow. Besides, the rent had been incredibly reasonable for Manhattan, and a few steps was a worthwhile tradeoff for not having to squish into another dorm senior year. Once you reached the top, you slipped your key into the lock, and let yourself and your guest into the room.  
The apartment wasn’t much, barely larger than a hotel suite, and probably not nearly as nice. A kitchenette sat to the left of the entryway while directly ahead was a couch, a couple of potted ferns, and a desk with a laptop and printer. Past the kitchenette was a small bedroom and an even smaller bathroom. You looked sheepishly at Chris.  
“It’s not much, but it’s really all I could afford on a college budget…” you offered.  
“It’s perfect,” he grinned back at you. You watched his eyes scan the room as he walked. “Excellent choice,” he commented, pointing at a couple of old band posters you’d hung on your walls. “Billy Joel, Cage the Elephant…” He turned over his shoulder to look at you. “Jesus, where’ve you been this whole time?”  
You smirked back at him. “Don’t get distracted, you’re still here to fix my laptop, remember?”  
Chris raised his eyebrows, surprised at your sudden bold attitude. “Oh, not to worry. I couldn’t forget why I came here if I wanted to,” he responded. Shit, how did he do that? Even on home turf, where you were infinitely more comfortable, he always had some retort. You never got this nervous in front of guys; Chris was clearly different.  
You quickly grabbed a stool from the kitchen and dragged it over next to the computer chair. Flipping open your laptop, you hit the power button and let it warm up. As it did, you turned to Chris, who was still engrossed in your various posters and pictures on the walls.  
“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” you asked, “I think I might have some beer or something…”  
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks though,” he replied, as he made his way to your desk, “Hey, could you unlock this for me? Then I can see what I’m actually working with,”  
“Yeah, yeah, of course! Sorry about that!” you immediately hopped back into position and entered your pin. After smirking a little at your screensaver (a rotating set of screengrabs, all from various Seinfeld episodes), Chris perused the icons, finally pulling up your editing software. He spent a few minutes poking around in silence, opening several tabs and adjusting different settings, and then he started to explain.  
“Okay, so I figured out what the issue was. See, if you look over here…” Chris was talking you through the process of using your software, but you weren’t really listening. It wasn’t that it was entirely boring- you just couldn’t help but get distracted because of who was doing the explaining.  
Chris had ditched his bulky coat by the door and slid his flannel off with it. Now he had only his tight t-shirt, which left little to the imagination. Your eyes traced his biceps, pecs, and abs through the thin gray material, nodding along as he tried to showcase how to set your IO and white balance. Eventually your gaze began to wander, further and further down until…  
“…so that’s pretty much it. Was there something else? …(y/n)?”  
“Huh?” you blinked, remembering what you were supposed to be doing (listening), what you had actually been doing (staring), and subsequently regretting letting your mind wander (but not too much). “Oh… um, no, that’s it. So it won’t crash anymore?”  
“I don’t think so, but just to be safe, keep saving every couple minutes so you don’t lose all your shit,” he said, “Believe me, it sucks ASS!”  
“Yeah, I bet!” you replied with a laugh. “Thanks again. Here, let me just shut this down-” Just as you reached for the mouse, Chris leaned over to grab it too. His hand landed on top of yours, meeting at just the right moment. The sudden contact sent a jolt of electricity along your arm and set your heart off racing again. The two of you locked eyes for what felt like an eternity, as you wondered, did he feel that too? Finally, you moved your hand and broke the silence.  
“H-hey, you wanna see something cool?” you asked, trying to remain nonchalant and failing miserably.  
“You know it,” he said, never breaking eye contact. You swallowed hard and stood up.  
“Here, come this way,” You gestured for him to follow you into your bedroom. Walking past your closet, you came to a small nightstand, on top of which rested a record player. You opened the drawer of the nightstand and fumbled around for a minute, eventually letting out a triumphant “HA!”  
You stepped back, brandishing an old vinyl record with a black and white cover. Holding your prize out to Chris, you explained “Piano Man, original record. Billy Joel, 19-”  
“-73…” Chris finished in awe. “This is really cool. I mean, really cool. Where’d you get this?”  
“Present from my dad. I always liked old shit, vinyls are no exception,” you grinned. Chris smiled and handed it back to you.  
“That’s really cool, (y/n). Thanks for showing me.”  
“Oh, yeah, no problem!” You turned back to the drawer and refiled the old record. You started to turn back around to face him, and continued, “I figured you’d find it neat, since, you know, you seemed really into-”  
Your words were cut off suddenly by the feeling of Chris’ lips crashing into yours. Although you were slightly taken aback at first by the sudden and immediate action, it only took you a couple seconds to return the favor. The room was no longer the victim of a cruel Manhattan winter; the heat had skyrocketed as you passionately kissed one another. You wrapped your arms tightly around Chris’ neck as he gripped your hair and your lower back, pulling you even closer to him. It was an incredible feeling: not at all soft, slow, or cautious. It was fast and desperate; there was almost an urgency to it. The tension had been building for so long that neither of you were willing to pause or break away for even a moment.  
The two of you moved as one, your back eventually hitting the wall. Without missing a beat, Chris lifted you just enough so that your legs could wrap around his waist. He pinned you to the wall, which left your hands free to reach down and lift his shirt at the hem. You pulled it over his head, noticing his tan, defined muscles as you did so. Although the t-shirt had left little for you to wonder about, there was something completely different about seeing his gorgeous body in person. You also had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his right shoulder and think ‘Okay, that’s fucking hot’ before Chris’ mouth was on yours and your eyes slammed shut again.  
Chris then lifted you up off the wall and brought you back towards the bed. You looked up at him as you lay flat on your back, unbuttoning the front of your shirt. He slowly climbed on top of you, watching, waiting until you were finished, and then resumed the exploration of your mouth with his tongue. Now, however, he had a new playground. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving hickies in their wake, and as he did so, you ran one hand through his hair and raked the other down his back. The love bites and scratches only further excited you both, and as Chris returned to your lips, you suddenly flipped him over.  
Now he was on his back, gazing up at you with raised eyebrows and a self-satisfied expression, as you straddled him. You returned his smirk, and simply said, “My turn.” They were the only words that had been spoken the entire time, not counting the gentle moans the two of you had been making as you went at each other.  
You leaned down and began to kiss him again, but you didn’t linger at his lips. Instead, you began to kiss his neck, then his chest, then his neck again. Chris’ back arched and his head tilted back as he let out a quiet “Oh, fuck”. You proceeded to kiss every square inch of his toned physique, from his cheeks and his neck to his pecs and his tattoo. Your lips ran down his body, moving from his chest down to his stomach. You then reached his jeans and began to undo the zip there. Chris’ breath caught in his throat and he entwined his fingers in your hair again, urging you forward, when suddenly:  
*RING RING*  
You both stopped.  
*RING RING RING*  
Chris looked at you, amused. How could he find getting interrupted so funny at a time like this? You shot him a look then glanced at your phone.  
CALLER ID: MOM  
Oh god. Not now. You looked back at Chris. “Answer it,” he managed, still holding back laughter. What?! Okay, you know what? Fine. I just might, you thought to yourself. You leaned over to pick up the phone.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey honey!” the sound of marimbas and laughter rang in your ear, along with a familiar voice.  
“Hey Mom,” you said, sitting up on the edge of the bed, “how’s the cruise going?”  
“OH, it’s GREAT! Your father and I are just having so much fun-” As you listened to your mom ramble, you tried to catch your breath. “You okay honey? You sound like you’re breathing a little heavy…”  
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you began, “it’s just the stairs, I-” you cut off and let out a gasp at the feeling of slightly cold hands on your back.  
“What was that?”  
“Oh, uhh, n-nothing!” You attempted to keep your composure as a set of hands wrapped around your waist and you felt more hickies as they were planted on your neck. “You know, it’s just that uhh… well I’m actually in the mID-!” You had to pause again and gasp for air as you felt your bra unhook and fall to the floor. “Middle of something!” you managed to spit out. “Could I call you back a little later? This project is really, REALLY important to the clAAAHH!” A hand snaked across your chest. “CLASS! And I have to finish it! So I’ll talk to you soon okay?”  
“Alright, I’ll make sure to tell your father you’ll call later! We can’t wait to hear all about this big project! Bye now!”  
A dial tone hit your ear. As you dropped your phone down beside you, you heard a voice in your other ear.  
“You know,” Chris whispered, “even if you don’t do the editing… you can still say you did the editor…” He tugged slightly on your ear with his teeth to get your attention.  
You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”  
Chris only smirked in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be honest, I’m not crazy about the last couple lines, but I finished this at 4 AM and I couldn’t think of a good closing line. Anyway I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable (#putmeintherecapchris). Thanks!


End file.
